


to the treehouse

by autumnnightsandlavendertea



Series: Bridgerton [2]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Aubrey Hall, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Engagement, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Post-Canon, sharing drinks, treehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnnightsandlavendertea/pseuds/autumnnightsandlavendertea
Summary: Aubrey Hall treehouse days pre wedding with some sibling bonding, sharing drinks post Kate’s accident, and basically Anthony surrendering to his wife’s perfection.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Series: Bridgerton [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146812
Comments: 12
Kudos: 123





	1. trepidation aloud

**Author's Note:**

> Why does the part of Edmund building a treehouse for his sons stick out like sore thumb to me? Why does the idea that Anthony still remembers it fondly while it seems the littles have forgotten still break me? I don't know. But I am utter garbage for treehouses and while it'll be years before they're built in the standards we know, for the sake of this fic, let's pretend Edmund Bridgerton and later Anthony were way ahead of the times. Yes? Yes.
> 
> I also adore the conversation between Eloise and Anthony in TSPWL and while there isn't really much here, I thought this attempt with them would be the perfect sort of start in what'll develop later. (In other words, I need more of these two in the following next seasons.)

Conversation regarding the former viscount’s death was scarce in the Bridgerton household.

They each processed it differently and more often than not, on their own.

Eloise Bridgerton had been with their father when the viscount suddenly hit the ground, never to rise again.

She was all too familiar with the bee.

_A bee._

Still, almost eleven years later, it was hard to believe. She had been but a seven-year-old girl screaming for help, unsure of what had just happened, but old enough to know—old enough to feel the terrifying loss that would stay with her all her life.

And then there was the eldest of them, Edmund’s heir, Anthony, who carried something with him as well—something indescribable. 

Something no one would know or understand.

Something his rich brown eyes could never hide.

Eloise had learned of the engagement details after prying it out of Daphne,

“Could you imagine it?” Daphne began, “of all the ways for our dear brother to compromise a woman, this was never something I would have pictured,” she said to her husband Simon, Eloise, and their sister Francesca.

“I for one am thrilled about it. She seems lovely. The only shame in all this is that we missed out on this game of Pall Mall that surely will now be legendary in this family,” said Francesca with the lovely warmth in her expression reserved for her family members. 

Eloise broke into a chuckle: “And she did it with his lucky mallet, too!”

“I truly wish you would have all been there,” Daphne smiled. “It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. To think he believed he was courting her sister, too. Goodness Anthony could be daft sometimes.” She looked to her husband, “besides, she gave him a taste of his own medicine with the front she put up. I could not adore the woman more.”

“That she did,” Simon returned.

Edwina Sharma was delightful, Eloise thought. They had met days earlier in the library when they had both been searching for a book to read in the gardens and instead, found themselves making a fast friend while discussing what they had and hadn’t read. 

But she wasn’t the woman for Anthony.

She could never be.

Not when it was so achingly obvious, even from afar as Eloise examined, that Kate Sharma seemed to be in every way, perfectly fit for her brother.

She hadn’t seen them interact the way the others had. The stories told enough to a degree, but there was _something_ about the woman standing beside her brother, something deep beyond her beautifully warm eyes that showed Eloise, and anyone looking close enough that she'd understand.

She’d know. She’d see.

No one spoke of Edmund’s death with trepidation aloud, but she sensed, perhaps they all did at times, that Anthony carried with him something that no one could touch—no one could understand.

She didn’t even understand her own something. The trauma of watching a grown man, tall and broad and every bit heroic succumbing to death because of a bee. Who could?

And yet, after they had learned, after she had understood that it seemed Kate to have been stung by one, Eloise gathered that her brother’s reaction would not have been so life-altering if it were any other thing.

She didn’t even know where she _was_ actually stung. That detail wasn’t disclosed, only that in his attempt to rid her of the venom anyone watching would deem it inappropriate. 

Polite society rules were too cruel to women anyway, so she didn’t press. 

She didn’t need to.

Anthony did not always make great choices, he was a man after all, but something about this was bigger.

Something was different.

She wasn’t irrational, a part of Eloise always knew and understood that there was nothing she could have done. She was seven after all.

She didn’t carry it with her the way she knew her brother did. And she didn’t quite understand the severity, but she knew enough to sense.

She saw something in Kate’s eyes mirror his—something tucked deep within. Something in her expressiveness. Something in the way she stood. 

Eloise wasn’t a religious woman. But as she stood there with the conversations around her silenced in the background, she prayed. To God. To her father even perhaps.

_Thank you._

Thankful that she was certain of the fact that this would be good for Anthony. He hadn't resided at Bridgerton house with the rest of the family for a while now, and it’d soon be his she realized, but it was an odd, nostalgic feeling of sorts. 

Her brother. The man she’d known even longer than her father—was to be married. A great deal would change now.

Daphne’s wedding and the move was Eloise’s first time experiencing the pangs of sadness. Though she wouldn’t show it, it was a strange, ab indescribable feeling of growing old—of moving forward. 

A feeling she’d much rather preserve—elevate her mind and soul instead of marriage and whatever that entailed.

But with Anthony, there was something different.

Something that was comforting.

She wouldn't miss him like she missed Daphne, and that was a good thing. He'd be alright. He'd be safe. They'd be okay.

She spoke to Kate briefly that night and was even more certain than before that she’d be gaining a new sister she’d absolutely adore. She already _did._

_______________________________________

When the night had ended and everyone retired to their rooms, Eloise couldn’t sleep.

If they were at Bridgerton House perhaps, she’d take a cigarette outdoors (Lord knows she needed it), but at Aubrey Hall—that couldn’t happen. And especially not with as many people in attendance.

She peered the hall where a candlelight flickered in their father’s old study. Now her brother’s.

_Anthony._

She peeked in, knocking quietly at the door that was already ajar

“Eloise?” 

“Mind if I come in?” 

“Of course. What is it? Is something amiss?” 

She sat at the chair in front of him, gazing around the room before she could meet his eyes. “No, not at all. I…”

Anthony wasn’t Benedict. He wasn’t Colin either. Eloise could torment and tease them all really, but conversation meant to be serious wasn’t easy. And certainly not with Anthony.

And especially when she wasn’t even sure what she’d wanted to say. She just…

“What is, sister?” his voice had softened with a hint of worry coming to surface. 

“Kate seems wonderful,” she burst.

“That she is,” Anthony replied with a smile leaning back in his chair a bit. His family’s admiration towards Kate was making all this much smoother.

“I heard about the bee,” she bit off, “or rather, I pried it out of Daphne, who I believe found out from mother,” her expression bordering into something both familiarly teasing and something Anthony couldn’t recognize. Something warm that broke his heart for a moment.

His eyes widened. _Jesus._ How much did she know?

He said nothing for a moment. He didn’t scold. He didn’t tell her to mind her words or to keep her nose out of his business. He just stared.

His little sister, who was far from little anymore, was the one who’d been with Edmund. The one who’d seen what Anthony could’ve…he almost choked at the thought of something happening to Kate again.

“I suppose it’s a good thing, isn’t it? You and Kate seem far more suited, if it weren't for the, you know, you'd still be courting the wrong woman” she broke into his thoughts with a cunning smirk.

“And you deciphered that how, exactly?”

“Come now, brother we all know I’m never wrong,” she winked.

He actually managed to laugh at that. Eloise was unlike any of his younger siblings. She was, in fact, the only one he had never really worried about.

She’d always be alright. She’d make her own way and she’d do so however she pleased. 

She'd be alright.

She'd be safe.

He understood that they were more alike than either of them perhaps realized.

He understood that while she came in to say something even she didn’t quite know, it was enough nevertheless.

“Papa would adore her, you know?” she started, “especially knowing she won a game of Bridgerton Pall Mall on her first try attempt.”

He sighed.

He’d never live this down he realized. They’d forget a lot of things, the bee even, but Kate’s win wouldn’t be one of those things. And if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t either. 

She was one hell of a woman. 

His soon to be _wife._

He wanted to protest that she didn’t actually win. But “I know,” was all he said, his eyes misting subtly as they darkened with a vulnerability that broke her heart.

And she understood that, too.

Eloise smiled. “Have you taken her to the treehouse yet?”

The treehouse their father built was sacred to them all. More often than not secluded now. But Anthony had preserved it through the years ensuring it'd stand even if unoccupied.

He hadn’t been since they were children. Once or twice for maintenance. Quite frankly, he thought most of them had forgotten about it.

After learning how to swim, both Gregory and Hyacinth frequented the lake far more than the trees and fields.

And yet, this idea sounded just right.

He would. 

It might not be a love match, but he and Kate would have children. He’d take _them_ there. 

"You know, I am surprised you brought it up, sister."

She smiled. The others might not visit it frequently. It is quite small after all—as adults they all surely wouldn't fit comfortably. 

But Eloise loved it. She recognized the changes that would occur there; the small ways in which Anthony would improve and replace and take care of it. She'd go off there to read most days—the sunlight peeking through the window that faced the lake... 

“Tomorrow. Before we leave,” he replied with a faint smile. He hadn’t thought of it, not quite yet, but Eloise was right.

Tomorrow, he would take her.

“Well,” she stood to leave, “I am happy for you, brother. Truly.”

He nodded. “Thank you.” The sincerity in his tone matching the gentleness in his eyes. 

“Eloise,” he called out.

She turned to face him. “Continue ostracizing the men of the ton. They aren’t worthy.” 

“Oh, I plan to,” she said with an incomparably confident smile and a rise in her shoulders.

After she’d gone, Anthony took another sip of the brandy he’d poured earlier and looking to his father’s painting, he sighed deeply.

“You really would adore Kate, father,” he started, “she’s a fine woman—far too good for me, but I’ll be good to her...I'll make all this worth it,” he finished with a muffled deep breath.

He thanked the heavens.

Tomorrow he’d take Kate to the treehouse. If only for a moment. She'd soon be familiar every corner of Aubrey Hall and its grounds. It'd all be hers too. But one last meeting with his betrothed in public before London was now necessary. 

Before retiring for the evening, he penned a note for her, went to the gardens for another tulip and insisted one of the lady's maids place it in her room and awaken her tomorrow before sunrise.

He'd never grow tired of giving her flowers he realized. Her face the first time he'd done it would be etched in his memory for a lifetime. _However short his may be._

> _Kate,_
> 
> _Meet me in the garden by the tulips. There is a place I’d like to show you before you depart Aubrey Hall._
> 
> _-Anthony_


	2. damned be control

The storm had ended days ago, but she was still reeling from the aftermath.

A storm. A sting. And now a fiancé.

She barely slept that night.

She had been awake when a knock on her door delivered a single tulip with a note attached:

> _Kate,_
> 
> _Meet me in the garden by the tulips. There is a place I’d like to show you before you depart Aubrey Hall._
> 
> _-Anthony_

Her world was still spinning, and in the midst of it she’d gotten engaged.

To Anthony Bridgerton of all people.

He had done unspeakable things to her in a gazebo, stolen a quick, searing kiss before he’d announced their engagement, and burned holes in her very beings with every look he gave her following—every gentle caress on her waist, her arms when others couldn’t see.

He’d walked her to her room then, damned be societal decorum and pinned her against the door for yet another taste of all that she’d have to offer. Gentle and intense, looking to her for permission—asking, _trying._

Kate had never felt so small. So revered. And it was only the beginning.

Small ... fallen. Needy. And somehow, still strangely, his equal.

Her head was in a fog.

The never-ending questions from the night before still lingered. _You must tell us how you managed it, Miss Sharma. Oh, you're a fortunate woman indeed._ _Oh, Kate! I'm so glad you are to be our sister. You must call me Violet now, Kate. You are to be my daughter after all. Certainly you are aware of his reputation, Kate. He is the worst sort of rake after all. He could never be loyal._

There was no time for anyone to even warn her. No time to just be Kate for a moment longer. No time to take a glass of warm milk and pretend she was but a mere child again.

She wasn’t to be wed for nine more days.

Nine.

Then she’d be a wife, Anthony Bridgerton's wife—a viscountess. It was thrilling and terrifying and too much too quickly. But nevertheless, somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, it felt right.

She dressed as quickly as she could, the yellow day dress she decided, and followed his note _to the tulips._

As she grew closer, she spotted him at the very spot he’d once plucked one just for her days before. Her heart sank warmly at the thought again. The reminder that he'd given her first flower, her first kiss—her first of many things.

“Good morning,” he smiled.

“Good morning, my lord. What’s this about?”

“Anthony,” he reiterated smiling with lethal fluency as he took her hand to his lips. “There is somewhere I’d like to take you."

“Oh?” she smiled faintly, “and where is that?”

“You’ll see. It’s a short walk,” he gave his arm for her to take.

“Anthony, is this wise? What if someone sees?”

“We are officially betrothed, Kate. No one can say a thing. And if they do ... well, I suppose you’ll just have to marry me,” he winked.

They walked in silence mostly; each of them marveling at the comfort in it.

Every breath.

Every step.

It was strange—she was overwhelmed and frankly tired, but when it was just Anthony, _just the two of them_ , something felt right.

As they turned a corner she hadn’t even noticed they were approaching, she spotted a treehouse in the distance.

It was astonishing in form; she had heard of treehouses—small and quaint for children. But this was different, it wasn’t large per se, but something about it looked like enchanted, covered in moss, and made of what she imagined was strong oak.

It was lovely.

Kate let out a small gasp.

“My father built it for us when we were children,” Anthony said with great reverence in his tone.

She looked to him, lost in what appeared to be a profound puncture of melancholy. He would continue to surprise her she gathered and smiling at the thought said: “It’s beautiful,” looking back to the treehouse with immense appreciation.

“Would you like to go inside?”

“Can we?” She looked so bright-eyed, so damned beautiful—Kate’s smile he realized would be his very undoing.

“Of course.” He led her towards the small steps, built in such a way where all the children could climb, no matter their age.

There wasn’t much inside, pillows and blankets and a small window facing the lake. She walked over, not knowing that Anthony had held onto her hand, letting her guide the way.

“It isn’t much, but...” he began. “It’s perfect,” she finished.

She felt closer to Anthony than she ever had to anyone before—there was something in the air, something that hummed and stirred in the room that made her feel safe.

He had brought her to a place she understood meant a great deal to him—a place he’d grown up in.

A place he’d laughed in.

A place he’d been _happy_ in. 

She turned to face him, to look into the dark brown eyes that could break her. The man she’d marry. The man who’d endured more than anyone should, and yet, he’d taken care of all those around him.

The good, bad, and ugly, she could love it all, _all of him_ —falling slowly, deeply, and somehow, for once she wasn’t drowning. It was liberating.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she smiled, placing her hand on his cheek gingerly and with staggering intimacy. Kate hadn’t done anything first, not yet, but he needed her, as much as she needed him, and she understood, gazing into the eyes of a lost man who was still holding onto something she didn’t fully know.

God must be on his side—the universe, the whole world. The sun, which was now rising and angled perfectly on her skin—beautiful and _transfixing_. He released a deep breath letting the stab of desire take root. He'd no longer deny it now, this woman was to be his. And he'd marvel at that. 

Nine days.

Nine tantalizing days until he could have all of her.

Her limbs twisted with his. His hands, lips and tongue tracing every part of her, in and out and with meticulous, unceasing attention.

Her body bare to him—only to him. _For him._ For as long as he...

Her eyes gazing into his.

God, her eyes.

He could drown in them—study them for hours, days, and find worlds of magic tucked away for him to uncover. 

If he allowed himself, if he wasn’t careful, if he lost control, he would love her for an eternity. He would...he would drown and he would let the seas of her beautiful brown eyes rob him of breath and sensibility. 

He thought he knew and understood strong feelings for a woman. He thought he had felt it. _But then he met Kate_. Stabs of _something_ with every move she made, every word she said. It all felt new and enticing somehow. And she was the most sensational treasure in the world. The warmest soul he'd ever known. The brightest. The _most_ desirable. 

God, he needed to control it all.

But damned be control for a moment, instead, he took her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss on it. Her palm. Her wrist. Her fingers. Slow but searing.

She was almost as tall as him and it wrecked him. Her long legs breaking into his every dream, her breasts that blissfully terrorized his every thought with temptation. 

Soon.

But not today.

Not here.

He’d have to tell her that theirs wouldn’t be a love match, that there'd be respect and loyalty and friendship, but not love. That, he couldn't. He wouldn't.

But not today. Not here.

Nothing would tarnish this moment.

This place where he could believe, that maybe, just maybe. Someday soon, he didn’t have to...

He swiftly moved behind her and gently tugged her body back to him. He placed a featherlight kiss to her neck, her chin, her ear—Kate fell back into him with euphoric ease, entranced by his mouth and giving in to the serenity that filled the moment.

She should hate what he could do to her, but she never wanted him to stop. Never dreamed it could be so good.

However nervous, however insecure.

His hands on her torso, her head tilted into his. He was agonizingly adept at making her break and shiver.

He stopped with chilling ease and whispered, “This will be good” into her ear. “It’ll be you and me now, Kate. And someday,” he broke off chuckling “little ones in this very place.”

She was thankful to be rendered speechless, Lord knows what she'd say in this state. In this moment.

And so she turned to him, placing one hand slowly to his chin, her forehead to his, surprising even herself with the gesture: “you and me,” she smiled.

She could feel his body unwind just as hers did, his shoulders eased, and his deep breath met with hers in a moment of beguiling deliverance.

“You and me,” he whispered back.

_You and me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If and when (likely soon) I go into part three, which will likely be the last of this series, it'll focus on the chapter in the study where Kate goes to bring Anthony back home and he refuses. Or, they'll be old and grey and returning to the treehouse. Who knows. Happy reading, lovelies.


	3. surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one time Anthony doesn't surrender and the two times he does. In other words, the study (a teeny tiny bit more of what we got in TVWLM), their bedroom (two days post accident), and beneath the trees (after Kate's recovery).

“‘It’s you and me,’ that’s what you told me when you took me to the treehouse,” she paused remembering the crisp dawn morning where she felt brave and daring. The day the promise stuck with her even before he told her he’d never love her. “Yet, you left—in the middle of the night, you left with no explanation, and you won’t even tell me why,” she finished trying to hold back the frustrations and heartache stirring in her.

The memory tore him into pieces.

“I shouldn’t have left. I apologize, but now....now’s not the time, go home, Kate.”

“I am your wife, Anthony. I swore a vow. In sickness and in health, til...” he interrupted her then, his voice hoarse and desperate: “Don’t. Don’t say death,” he pleaded shaking his head lightly.

“I...” she began, searching his eyes to understand the darkness buried deep in his bones. The crosses he carried that she’d sensed, but hadn’t seen. The ones she knew tore him up inside. He looked so small. So afraid and broken.

“I...I surrender, Anthony, I don’t know what it’ll take for you to let me in,” her eyes filled with tears and something in her shattered. “I surrender,” she said again, her voice breaking while she gave up control. She couldn’t hide it, not now—not anymore. _I surrender._

She turned to walk away before he pulled her back, capturing her mouth with the desperation from the night before—the need to somehow etch himself onto her, the need to burn through her. To fight and to break and damned be control.

His hands cupped her face as he slowed rhythm, breathing her in and trying to surrender...trying but failing.

“Come home, Anthony,” she whispered as they parted, “come back to me,” she continued. Whatever temporary bliss, the benediction broke into his trance. No. _God, he wanted to._ He wanted to with everything in him. But not now. Not here. _He didn’t know how._

He dropped to his knees and held onto her. “Surrender, Anthony, please.”

He heard the heartache in her voice, the tears that triggered faint panting. He held her still for a few minutes longer as her body quivered in his grasp. _How?_ How was he supposed to surrender? How? She didn't even know what was tormenting him. If she understood, if she somehow knew, maybe she'd tell him how. Maybe she'd break through, he thought.

"Go home, Kate. Please," was all he said in a tone so hushed, she couldn't fight anymore.

“You win. Whatever it is, you’ve had your way once more.”

He hated himself—completely and fully. In this very room, he brought pain to her once again. The first time it was after he’d thrown the key. He remembered it like it was yesterday, wanting then to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, wanting to kiss and lose himself in the taste of her. He didn’t deserve her then and he didn’t deserve her now.

But he’d find a way to make it right this time. A way to find meaning in the love he couldn’t fathom or understand.

He’d find a way to surrender. He _had_ to. He could lose everything, but if he lost Kate, he'd lose his soul.

* * *

“How am to survive two months of lying in bed when I’m this tired after two days?” Kate whined. She hated everything about how vulnerable this accident made her.

“Well, I could continue to disclose all the wick—“

“Anthony Bridgerton if you open your mouth one more time about all the things you’d like to do to me without actually doing them, I’ll throw this candle at you," she reached by her bedside in frustration.

He chuckled. The cheeky bastard actually chuckled. Kate was going to murder him—as soon as she could get up, she’d murder him. Love be damned.

“My God, you’re sensational,” he dropped to his knees before her and delicately kissed her leg. “I’ll be be back in a moment—stay right there,” he said with a wink.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, wife,” she heard him yell as he stormed out. Where the devil was the idiot man going now? It was nearly time for bed. Kate’s leg still ached terribly and when she wasn't distracted by visitors, she’d felt it most.

She heard Anthony’s footsteps approaching. How comforting, she thought, the fact that she had memorized them brought her surprising happiness. No matter how many people were in and out, she always knew when her husband was approaching—even when he wasn’t yelling something or aggressively stomping on the stairs, skipping two at a time. She knew. She’d always know.

He walked in with a decanter of what looked like whiskey and a single glass in his hand that he cheerfully set down before removing his night robe.

“How lovely, you’ve gotten yourself a drink to deal with my complaints. If that’s the case then, I’ve a whole list, my lord,” Kate said as she rolled her eyes.

Anthony carefully joined her on the bed and poured the drink into the glass—“what’s mine is yours, my lady, have we not established this yet?” She watched him bring the glass close to his face: “It’s my finest, from Scotland,” he took a sniff of it slowly as he tightened his gaze on her. “I’ve never shared this one with a single soul—not even my brothers,” he took a slow, agonizing sip with his eyes still fixed on hers.

He passed it to her then, watching her eyes study his rhythm with the questioning manner she’d always done so with when something was new for them.

Kate took a small sip, mirroring what he'd just done and savored the warm sensation it left while sinking down her throat. She’d drank champagne before, she’d had wine on certain occasions, but whiskey—it was wildly different.

“I don’t understand how, but it’s enchanting,” she said.

She passed the glass back to him.

“Ah, the power of a good drink is also in the way it’s taken in—it’s a matter of desire, feeling. I’m partial to brandy as you know...Lord knows tea’s never tasted better than moments before it led you to my lap. A fine beer with its bubbles is just right given the occasion...” He stopped to take another sip. 

She watched him drink again and marveled at the idea that somehow, sharing a drink in this fashion could feel so intimate. If she were not confined to this one blasted position, she’d straddle her legs around his and bring them even closer together. On his lap, drink in hand, the thought alone made her heart race.

He nudged it over to her—“go on.”

Anthony watched as she swallowed and took on the novelty with enamoring ease. He was amazed and ignited at the subtly in which she licked her lips. _God, he loved her._

He leaned over to kiss her. The taste of her lips combined with the aged sweetness of whiskey made his insides turn. As if he weren’t consistently drunk off of her, this new form of oblivion would force him to ascend. “Have I told you how sensational you are?”

“Only a moment ago, but in what sense? In the way that I threatened to throw a candle at you? Or that I can probably hold my liquor...”

He laughed with a sincerity that lit up the entire room far more than the candlights ever could. “In every way, my love—in every way, in everything you do.” His voice was gentle, and his primitively longing eyes filled with a contentment she’d not yet seen before. The slow steady rhythm of his laugh eased into an organic stillness that robbed her of speech.

 _My love._ The endearment left his lips with such seamless grace, Kate’s insides flustered with the heat of a thousand embers gleaming within. _My love._ Her heart was soaring. She felt warm and secure. Armored in glinting strokes of indescribable contentment that pierced her soul in an ardent homecoming.

Anthony placed his hand around her shoulders while holding the glass still in the other and took a deep, calming breath. “Tell me you feel a bit better tonight.” When he looked to Kate, he noticed the gazing wander and solace in her eyes. She was glowing. “What is it?”

She smiled and leaned her head further into his embrace. “I do feel better tonight. Much.”

“You’ve barely had anything to drink, you cannot be so inebriated that throwing a candle at me one moment and smiling the next as so, would be unnoticeable.”

She said nothing and instead closed her eyes to his embrace.

“If you do not tell me what has you grinning, I’ll hold your leg down and tickle you senseless until you do.”

She gently slapped his thigh. “You _wouldn’t_ dare _.”_

“You’re right, not in this state, but I’ll keep asking until you do. You’re bound to want to strangle me into silence at some point.” He gripped her shoulder closer to him and begged with a velvety playful whisper in her ear. _Please._

“It’s nothing, you ridiculous man. What you said a moment ago. It just felt nice to hear it, I suppose.” She melted into the way he’d started nibbling on ear. “Which part? Hmm, _my love_?” The damned man knew exactly which part. The moment it left his lips he’d been struck with the perfect sense of contentment that sunk into his core with the incandescent reminder that he was free from the bondages of control and heartache. She was his—til kingdom come, til death forced them apart. _His love_. And God, it was liberating

She let out a soft sigh of serenity, turning her head to face him, she stole a kiss amidst his growing laugh: “ _That part,”_ she replied.

“Specificity is key, _my love_ —go on.”

“Pass me the glass…” she paused for a quick kiss, “ _my love_.”

Anthony growled into the kiss and passed her the glass. “I truly hope to discover something you do that does _not_ set my entire body ablaze, for if not, Heavens knows how I’ll bear such overwhelming joy for the rest of my days.”

She took a drink of the whiskey. “You don’t seem to like it when the black mallet is in my possession, and it’s certainly _not_ something I ever plan on surrendering. I suppose that should do the trick, should it not?”

She passed the glass back to him and leaned further into his embrace

“On the contrary, wife. For as much as I hate that you’ve commandeered it, seeing it in your hands…with you bent over in concentration does a number on my _need_ to be inside of you. However, so long as I take it back before that sight graces my vision again, I might not want to throttle you as fervently if I’m protecting my first love.”

“You know, other men might feel such strong feelings about a horse perhaps? Maybe even a family dog, like my darling little Newton, but a mallet? You are a strange, strange man, Anthony.”

“Sssh. I will not listen to you slander _my_ lucky mallet, which is precisely why it belongs to me because you do not love it nearly as much.”

“Oh, I love it plenty. And I will _not_ be letting go of it easily. What’s mine is yours, is that not what you said moments ago?”

“Everything, all that I own, including my body, except _my_ mallet.”

“Which one, the black one used for Pall Mall…or?” her hand trailed down to his trousers and hung just above his—“the one for Pall Mall is _mine_ , you minx”—he lowered her hand down to his hard length. “This one’s all yours.” 

“We could always switch, you know? You have your hands after all. I could keep the other…”

He growled and took a larger drink from the glass. “You are lucky I know your leg still aches or I’d tie you up to this bed…”

“And have your way with me in hundreds of ways until all I could see are stars and I’m robbed of speech,” she said in a mocking tone while reaching over him towards the hand that held the glass, and brought it to her lips while staring intently at him. “I know, husband. I know. One day. You might win this war. Unfortunately for us, today is not that day.”

Anthony tried to keep from smiling, but he couldn’t. She was so damn captivating. And if this blasted injury wasn’t so new, he’d win this battle—he’d tie her up without hesitation. He'd find a way. “You are a menace, my love.”

“That I know too,” she replied with playful conviction.

Anthony kissed her head at the agreement—his menace of a wife was the sun and moon to him. His everything, in all her remarkably perilous ways and graceful adoration. Loving this woman was to make his life more colorful, endearing, enigmatically captivating in every sense. There’d never be a dull moment and accepting all this was liberating indeed. He had won, even in the surrender, he'd won through the chance to love her. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments passing the glass back and forth until he refilled it, and Kate had decided she’d had enough.

“Do you remember when you had your first drink?” she asked while watching him take in another sip.

“I believe I might have been 15? It was my birthday,” he swallowed in memory before continuing. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went downstairs in hopes that someone would be up and I saw the lights were on in father’s study. After he'd noticed that it was after midnight and therefore, my birthday, he offered me a glass of brandy. It was strange, the first time. But I didn’t hate it,” he took a drink from the glass again and sighed deeply. “He told me that a drink shared with someone you love is always much more indulging than on your own. I stayed with him until he finished assessments for whatever he was working on and went to bed.”

“That sounds lovely. I wish I had met him,” she reached over to hold onto his head that draped from her shoulder.

“He would’ve adored you, Kate. He truly would. Eloise would vouch for this. My whole family would. She came to my study after we had gotten engaged...she...she was the one who’d been with him when it happened. She was seven. I can’t imagine it. Although Eloise is the strongest of us—no child deserves to see that, let alone my sister. Something in her, she’s like our father in that way.”

“She’s a lot like you, Anthony. I’ve never met your father, but I know Eloise well enough to decipher how alike you two are in the way you carry yourselves. The insane competitiveness. The the will to chase what you want. If your father was that way, and you believe she is that way, well, from what I hear, you are his copy in myriad of ways.”

“Perhaps so.”

“Your siblings were fortunate—each and every one of them to have you.”

“The lot of them might disagree. I wasn’t always pleasant, Kate. I wasn’t always there. I didn’t get things right.”

“Anthony, you were 18 when you were thrust into a viscountcy after losing your father to a tragic accident. No one was going to expect you to get everything right—even your father, I’m certain made mistakes in his life. We speak well of those who’ve passed, but no human who’s walked this earth was perfect all the time. Your family is fortunate. They may not say it, but they know. Deep down, they all know that without you, so much of what has happened would not have been possible.”

“I could be irrational at times. Too quick to act.”

“You were screaming “it was supposed to be me” when you found me under the carriage and you kissed me for the first time while trying to scare me. I know you are quick to react but that doesn’t change the fact that should any of them need you, you'd do the best you could.”

He laughed at her level headed approach to making him feel better. “Kate, I tried to duel with my best friend.”

“I know. And in hindsight it sounds utterly ridiculous. It does. It's horrible. If I were there I would have never allowed it. But your sister was left in a compromising situation with a man who was refusing to marry her. I’d probably try to demand satisfaction if someone did the same to Edwina, and I’m not a man.”

He chuckled loudly then: “God, I don’t doubt that for a moment. This is why I love you.”

“Because I’m the female version of you?”

“Because you’re my equal. You’re my voice of reason and my calm.”

“Moments ago you called me a menace, my lord, which should I believe?”

“Both. You’re both. You’re everything that’s good and reckless. You’re everything that’s gentle and patient.”

“I will not argue with that. But you should get it through your thick skull that you’ve done the best you can and you have plenty of room to still grow and better yourself. You also have me now to help you through difficult things that shouldn't be placed on one person to deal with alone. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You may not see it, but I promise I do—the way they each look at you, even Benedict who’s closest to you in age, they all see your role, Anthony. The littles especially. Hyacinth idolizes you. Don’t you ever for a moment think that when that little girl grows up, she won’t understand the colossal presence you’ve been in her life. No one's role should go from a brother to a father as quickly as yours did, and they see it—each in their own way, but they see it. And I see it through them.”

His eyes glistened at the statement. He understood and he’d try to believe her, or at the very least, to continue finding ways to be the version of himself Kate saw.

He said nothing, he set the drink aside and pulled her close.

“When we go back to Aubrey Hall—can we go back to the treehouse?”

“You can lead the way. Wherever you desire, I’ll always follow.”

* * *

They explored hand in hand towards the fields near Aubrey Hall, going nowhere in particular or _to the treehouse_ perhaps.

The canopy of trees and the forked-out branches that possessed the fields struck Kate’s heart with glorious memories. He had laid her down in this very place just months before and marveled over her body for hours.

She led the way with their fingers intertwined—by her side, behind, or in front—Anthony adored how powerful he felt beside her. She was almost as tall as him, stunning him to no end with every move she made. She was a force stronger than anything he'd ever known. 

She’d lead the way to any labyrinth, and he’d follow without hesitation.

Since she’d grown up in the countryside, Kate was never afraid of scuffing her dress or running through fields and trees—she preferred it to the balls and drawing room etiquette. She preferred sitting beneath the trees, near flowers and gardens. Anywhere green. Anywhere quiet with _Anthony._

She wore a wine-colored day dress that brought out the faint shades of deep amber hidden in her dark brown waves. Anthony would swear he could see shades of gold dancing during the right time of day. He could lose himself within her hair often, running his fingers through them for hours on end. Here at Aubrey Hall—there'd be no pins, no coiffures, just the waves they both adored. No chemise or corset either, society would frown upon them, but Kate hated the marks they’d leave on her back and along with the faint steins of blood, he hated anything that confined her breasts from him.

Here at Aubrey Hall, everything was simpler—more delivering. More of _them_ and less of the world that demanded mercilessly.

She led the way to a thick, solid branch that hung low enough to sit and stay on comfortably. Kate lifted her skirts high enough to make the short climb easier and huddled in position to make room for Anthony.

He dropped to his knees in front of her instead and taking her hand in his, peppered it with kisses leading to the hollow of her elbow.

“There’s enough room for two of us on here,” she began, lengthening the leg that faced him to point with her foot to the other side of the branch.

“Why would I ever go so far away when I could reach every part of you seamlessly from here?” he hummed into her leg when she attempted to bring it back closer to her. _The leg._ The one that had been a damn nuisance to his every fantasy, but now—after months of recovery, it was his to cherish. She was his to cherish, every beautiful, mesmerizing inch of her skin was free to him again. 

Kate leaned her head against the curved branch behind her and threaded her fingers through Anthony’s hair, pushing back the strands that were falling across his forehead, she relished at the sight of him beside her, _beneath her._ His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and the buttons opened to expose his neck were all too much and not enough at the same time. 

This, Kate thought. These moments in the sun away from prying eyes and at the liberty of each other were the days she wanted engraved in her forever.

The sunlight cresting through from the trees above them brought out the entrancing rings and the most piercing shades of gold in her eyes that floored Anthony to his bones. Finding forever in the warmth within them was the perfect drunken bliss—breathtaking in every way and simultaneously never enough. In every light, whatever she did, however simple, her eyes were his home.

“Heavens, Kate,” he placed his hand on her cheek, “do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How utterly captivating?”

He had spent hours, days telling her she was beautiful. She believed him when he said it, but she could never get used to this—the desperation and thrill it brought to his face. The hoarseness in his voice every time he held her close and broke into her soul with his words. She'd felt the weight of them piercing through her in pulsating trickles of desire igniting within. “You’ve told me, once or twice.”

She knew she was his. She knew he was hers. She knew his loyalty would never waver. But she could not imagine a time where his smile wouldn’t be her light—and she wondered if that were the case for him too. She wondered what he’d do when beauty turned to wrinkles, if greys replaced browns.

No matter, he’d be her light. _Would she be his?_

“Once, twice, you deserve more, my love—far, far more. Once, twice in a minute? An hour?” He rose to capture her mouth with his, grinning with sly hunger into her lips with an attempt to inject the words he’d been robbed of. The words he couldn't find. Too beautiful. Too captivating. For his wife, there needed to be new words—someone would uncover it someday, hidden in the paintings of her face long after they’d both been gone. They’d see the way the artist captured her effervescent glow and they’d be struck to the bones just as he was every moment he looked to her. _Viscount Bridgerton was the luckiest man,_ they’d say. _To live and to love with this woman by his side._

He was on his knees again, his lips roaming her leg with gentle insatiability as her hands went back into his hair. He held her hips in place as he made certain no part of her skin was left without a trace from his lips.

“I need a painting of you. _Fuck._ Right here, right in this moment, hung in every room of the house to make sure all who enter know who reigns. Just as you are with that brilliant glow in your eyes—your face flushed with desire, your lips swollen because of me _._ Your dress above your knees. _God, Kate_ ,” he groaned.

She was completely besotted before him and he marveled at the fact that he could still do that to her. He loved her even more when she showed such signs that mirrored his own emotions.

“You’re a mad man, my love.”

“Yes, mad for you. Because of you. And everything you do to me.”

His lips trailed between her thighs—stopping for a moment to look up at her again—to drown in her silhouette and the light in her eyes, the quintessentially indescribable bliss of her beautiful smile drove him to perfect madness every time. "No man has felt what I do for you. Robbed of words and breath at every sight, every touch, every kiss. The damn poets couldn’t put my love for you into words.”

He'd spent the next few minutes showering her with the fire burning through him, thanking the heavens they were alone in the fields where she was free to cry out and moan and surrender to his tongue’s wicked schemes. Here beneath the canopy of trees—it was great before, the first time they’d been here, but now, it was otherworldly.

The love of his life.

The light in his darkness.

Theirs was something indescribable. 

He was a mad man indeed, but he was hers. If he loved her as ardently now, perhaps she was amiss to think it'd dwindle. Perhaps when the madness calmed and the comfort settled, wrinkled and grey, she'd still be the only spark that could ignite him. As if he heard her very thoughts, as if something in her body told him, Anthony looked at her with profound longing and said: "I love you, Kate. We'll be like this always. Always and forever." Using the very words that once sent him running from her, he kissed her lips with searing passion, marking every inch of her as his. His favorite place to run to now, never from.

Forever. This was _forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue where this went. After the study, it basically grew wings and ran from me, and then I saw this (https://twitter.com/bridgertonbros/status/1369988791960756230?s=20) on Twitter and damn near lost all chill and just knew I wanted to write about it. (Can you blame me? LOOK AT THEM!) I'm also utter garbage for sharing drinks so had to incorporate that with these two as well. In which, this final chapter is likely utter madness and if you've read far enough to see this, you are an absolute peach and I'm forever grateful.


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